


Harebells

by Saetha



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fili Kili and Thorin obviously mentioned as well, Flower Crowns, Flowers, Fluff, Gen, Language of Flowers, and Frodo-Dwalin bonding time even more so, mentions of past character death, wee!Frodo is incredibly adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1791175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been over four decades since the mountain has been reclaimed and Bilbo has just taken in Frodo to live with him when, one day, five dwarves come knocking at his door, four of which he knows very well. None of them, however, have met his nephew yet and nobody would've thought that it would be Dwalin of all dwarrows who Frodo would take such a liking to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harebells

**Author's Note:**

> My muse showed me a picture of bearded men with flowers in their beards and literally out of nowhere this little plot bunny assaulted me. Originally meant to be only a short drabble, this somehow got away from me, sorry (which might also be the reason it's slightly messy, I apologise in advance). But I just couldn't pass up on the opportunity to write Frodo being adorable with Dwalin, awwww. And yes, I've diverted a tiny bit from canon here and let Bilbo adopt Frodo when he was 13/14 (in hobbit years), so very shortly after his parents died.
> 
> Btw, harebells are a beautiful species of bellflower that's very common in Scotland.

 

The Shire was almost the same as it had been over forty years ago. The same lush green and rolling hills, the same richness of flowers blooming in the gardens around the hobbit holes. Even the inhabitants seemed to have barely changed - although undoubtedly not quite the same people they had encountered several decades ago, the hobbits they met were still suspicious against strangers and just as fond of food, drink and cheer.

Balin turned around to look at the small company travelling with him - Dís and Bofur were in quiet conversation right behind him, Ori coming up on his pony after them and still as impressed by the landscape as he had been on their first trip through it. Dwalin held the rear, his gaze impassive and entire posture as rigid as if hewn from stone. Balin sighed quietly to himself, wishing that his brother would just relax. The probability of them getting attacked in those peaceful surroundings in the middle of the day were slightly smaller than getting hit by a lightning bolt from the sky. Still, the dwarrow could hardly fault him for doing his best to protect the two that were left of those closest to him. Even if both Dís and himself were more than capable of doing so themselves.

The decision to visit their burglar had been made almost on a whim a few months ago. They had no real reason to travel west, but Balin had suggested a revision of the trade agreements with those that still resided in the Blue Mountains and what better ambassador than some of those who had spent a long time living there themselves? Dís had expressed her desire to meet the hobbit who had been so pivotal in reclaiming the mountain and without who the quest would have surely failed. And where Dís and Balin went, Dwalin was sure to go as well despite his position as commander of the royal guard. Not even Dáin had objected when they had announced their intentions. Bofur and Ori had been quick enough to agree to accompany them in place of the rest of their company. Most of them had visited the hobbit over the past four decades at one point or another. The only exception had been Balin and Dwalin who had always been required to stay in Erebor, forced to send only letters and little gifts to the one who had helped them beyond measure. Still, even after forty years Balin remembered the way to Bag End as if it had been only yesterday that they had made the same journey.

They left their ponies in a stable further down the road, the same place that had harboured them the first time they had come to Hobbiton. Even its owner was the same, though much older now and his son seemed to be doing most of the work for him. Nevertheless, he apparently remembered that they were by far not the first dwarven customers he'd had and although he still seemed suspicious and murmured something about 'proper company' and 'Master Baggins and his strange acquaintances' he was willing enough to take their money for providing the ponies with food and a safe stable for a few days.

The five of them made their way to Bilbo's door, past the beautifully tended gardens and barely veiled stares of other inhabitants of the small village. The many flowers in bloom and healthy patches of vegetables probably meant that Bilbo was doing well by hobbit-standards and Balin was secretly grateful for it. It would do their hobbit no good to be caught up in grief for his friends forever.

*

Unlike the first time it had happened, Bilbo Baggins was now always pleasantly surprised when dwarves appeared on his doorstep. The only thing that they really should get accustomed to, he supposed, was to announce their coming _in advance_. At least he kept his pantry well-stocked with a variety of different foods at all times and this time there were only five dwarrows standing in his doorway, not thirteen, so that he would suffer no embarrassment from not being able to feed their hungry company.

He pondered that he was at least lucky enough that Frodo spent the afternoon in the company of his new friend Samwise. The lad was still shy after staying more than half a year with his mouthy aunt and likely being told off for all manner of things and had just started to open up a little to their neighbours; seeing a group of intimidating-looking (at least in Dwalin's case) dwarves on the doorstep wouldn't have done him any good, so much was clear. Now that he was watching them all sitting around the big table and demolishing his supplies he wondered whether the sight of them clustered in his dining room would truly be so much less startling for Frodo.

Balin had been the one to knock on his door and the first one to enter. The old dwarf had barely changed apart from an added layer of weariness over his features. His voice, however, had still been the same - warm and full of happiness to see him. The same held true for Bofur and Ori, and Bilbo was delighted to see the miner and the scribe coming by his house again. Their smiles were bright and genuine. Dwalin was the last to enter, a dwarrow next to him who was all but unfamiliar to Bilbo. He startled slightly as Balin introduced her (a dwarrowdam then - a rare sight indeed) as Lady Dís to him.

Even if he hadn't heard her name from her sons dozens of times, he still would have recognised her - the same eyes of piercing blue like her brother's and hair even darker than his, the shape of her nose much like Kíli's and the chin so much like Fíli's that there wasn't a single ounce of doubt. The lines of grief on her face were sharp, but despite all the losses she had endured there was still a warm glint in her eyes as she looked down on him.

"So this is the hobbit." she had said and something inside Bilbo had clenched as Dís unknowingly spoke the same words her brother had used so long ago, albeit with warmth and approval colouring her tone. It didn't go unnoticed; he saw Dwalin tense up under the weight of a sudden memory and Balin's eyes taking on a strange glint.

Their coats and swords safely deposited in a corner of the entrance hall he had guided the five dwarves to sit around his big dining table and promptly busied himself in the kitchen to provide a late lunch for them. He had just finished his preparations and set the table with the help of Bofur and Ori when the front door swung back in its angles and revealed the a small face framed by dark curls and impossibly wide blue eyes.

"Uncle Bilbo?"

Frodo's voice was timid and obviously he wasn't sure what to make of the strange voices carrying over from their dining room.

"Frodo!" Bilbo hurried over to were the little hobbit was still tentatively waiting on the doorstep. The dwarves had fallen silent and although they couldn't see the door from where they were sitting, they all turned their heads towards the hallway.

"Come in, my lad, what is it?"

"S-Sam said he had seen dwarves walking up the road and coming into your house and I d-didn't believe him..."

Frodo's eyes darted to the pile of weapons and clothes in the entrance hall that clearly proved his disbelief wrong. Bilbo smiled and extended his hand.

"Sam had it right. They're all quite friendly really, and nothing to be afraid of. Would you like to meet them?"

His nephew didn't answer, but after a short moment of hesitation, he took his offered hand and finally stepped inside, wiping his bare feet dutifully on the doormat.

A smile lit the faces of all the assembled dwarves when they laid eyes on Frodo. Bilbo had rarely seen dwarf children, but he knew from the tales of the Company that almost all dwarves were incredibly fond of them because there were so few amongst their own folk. And their fondness was often not limited to their own race as was evident from how most of them had treated young Tilda back in Laketown and were reacting to his own nephew now.

Bofur's grin was the widest, his eyes sparkling with barely hidden surprise and joy. Balin's and Ori's were nearly as wide, the weariness on Balin's face disappearing for the moment. Dís' smile had a slightly loose edge to it and Bilbo knew she was remembering her own sons when they had been but young lads. Even Dwalin's lips were curling upwards and the heaviness in his eyes seemed to lighten a bit.

All five of them stood up and introduced themselves to the young hobbit now as it was proper for dwarves, with a slight bow and the emphatic declaration of being at his service. Frodo was obviously both impressed and frightened by the display, clinging closely to Bilbo throughout the entire process. When they had all finished their introductions, his uncle gently nudged him forward.

"Don't you want to introduce yourself too?"

"I-, uh, F-Frodo Baggins, at your service?"

He drew the last bit of the sentence out like a question, as if he was unsure if reciprocating the dwarves' greeting had been the right thing to do. His attempt at politeness was met with some well-meant chuckling and even brighter smiles. The dwarrows all took their places at the table again to resume their meal, Frodo and Bilbo joining them on their own chairs. Hobbits never said no to an additional bite to eat and soon he and Frodo were tugging into the food as well. Maybe it was the food, the dwarves' friendliness or their obvious fondness of his uncle's cooking that Frodo could relate too, but he seemed to become more courageous and relaxed over the course of the meal and suddenly piped out:

"So are you the dwarves from uncle's adventure then?"

Bofur laughed, obviously delighted by the fact that Bilbo had told the tale of their quest to his nephew and the young one was obviously enchanted by the thought of having the heroes from those tales sitting in their very own dining room.

"Aye, laddie, most of us here are."

At that Frodo scrunched up his nose as if trying to recall something.

"I remember your names." he said.

"Bofur, you were the one who was always so nice and did a lot of singing, did you?" Bofur grinned widely at that and nodded.

"Ori was the one who did a lot of writing and drawing...Balin always had a lot of wise words to say according to uncle and Dwalin..." there was a frown on Frodo's face now as he tried to recall his uncle's words about the big warrior.

"Uncles said that he was often afraid of you, but that you could smash in a warg's skull with bare hands! Oh, and that you like cookies." The last one was obviously a very redeeming fact about the most intimidating of their guests and Frodo's face lit up when he remembered it.

"Aye, suppose that's true. The warg bit might be slightly over exaggerated though..." Dwalin raised his eyebrows in a questioning glance at Bilbo. The hobbit turned slightly red and managed a murmured apology of maybe embellishing his tale in a few places. Frodo, becoming bolder by the minute, had meanwhile slid off his chair and ventured over to where the cookie jar was standing. He knew his uncle didn't allow him to just take some of them whenever he wanted, but surely it was allowed to use its contents to make their guests happy?

"Do you want one?" he muttered shyly, offering one of the cookies to the big dwarf. The first real smile was playing around his lips now and Frodo noted that suddenly, Dwalin didn't seem so scary anymore when he was smiling. The tall dwarrow took the cookie from his hands and thanked him in a very earnest voice. Frodo turned around to the lady dwarf sitting next to him and unsuccessfully tried to remember how she fit into his uncle's story.

Dís noticed his confusion and smiled.

"I wasn't on the quest, if you're trying to remember." she said gently. "I was back at home, to rule over our people in my brother's place."

If there were any traces of regret in her voice, Frodo didn't notice them. But both Dwalin and Balin had been with her in those dark nights when memories, self-loathing and accusations had kept her awake and she had stubbornly insisted that maybe the outcome of the battle could have changed had just her own axes been there to defend her kin. They recognised the glint in her eyes in an instant.

"Your brother? But..." Frodo would have continued talking, but at this point Bilbo chimed into the conversation, shushing him with a stern look and a little gesture. Silence had momentarily taken hold of their little group and Bilbo cleared his throat and stood up to start clearing the table of the remnants of their meal. The dwarves left their seats as well to help with the task and Dís smiled again at Frodo.

"I can tell you about him and my sons if you like, maybe tomorrow or later this evening."

The offer came as somewhat of a surprise to Bilbo who still couldn't quite imagine the sheer weight of what she had lost, but he was glad to see that she still seemed to be able to talk about them. And Fíli, Kíli and Thorin's memory deserved to be kept alive and shared. He wondered whether Dwalin ever talked about them as well, but somehow he was convinced the walls around his heart would be much harder to break than those around Dís'. He remembered well his own mother's reaction after his father had died, the complete change in her demeanour as if a part of her were always missing. She had never truly been herself in the eight years following Bungo's death and when death took her some had almost called it a blessing.

Bilbo still recalled the moments on the journey when he had first noticed it - gazes and touches lingering just a moment too long to be completely innocent, the utter trust in their eyes, and one morning when he had woken up before everybody else, Thorin's head on Dwalin's shoulder who'd had the last watch, the king sleeping as soundly as Bilbo had never seen it before. He had then felt a certain pang of gratefulness that even someone as mighty as Thorin had still found a person who he could lean on.

"And how are the others of the company faring then?" Bilbo asked Bofur as he brought in another set of dishes.

Bofur grinned and took a towel from the rack to start drying the crockery that Bilbo had already cleaned.

"Well, let's see - my brothers stayed behind on account of Bombur's family, they just had their thirteenth little one and Bifur's been getting worse recently, no need to subject him to such a long journey. Nori's been on the run again from the guards and nobody has seen him in over half a year. Óin's still needed in the infirmary every day and doesn't quite trust the others to carry out his tasks yet - same goes for Glóin as the master of coin and Dori what with him overseeing most of the weavers and tailors by now. They all gave us gifts for you though, so don't think for a moment they've forgotten about you!"

Bilbo had to laugh at that.

"I never would, my friend, I never would."

With several helping sets of hands, the washing up was finished rather quickly. Ori had taken to sketching parts of Bag End with Bilbo's approval and Balin and Bofur were deeply involved in a conversation about the changes in the trade agreements they hoped to make once they arrived in the Blue Mountains. Dwalin sat next to them, listening to their words and seemingly content with just remaining silent and relaxing in the relative safety of Bilbo's home.

Frodo was playing outside in the garden, intent on not disturbing their guests in whatever they were doing. When Bilbo stepped outside to keep watch over him, he found half of his little bench already occupied by Dís who was smoking from a rather elaborate and definitely familiar looking pipe. She startled slightly, then looked up to him. 

"Ah, Master Baggins."

She followed his gaze down to her pipe and smiled a small smile of equal parts sadness and happy memory as she turned it in her hands.

"Oh, you noticed. Yes, it's Thorin's pipe - I wanted to give it to Dwalin first but he told me I should have it. He was never as fond of smoking as me and he said it would be a shame to let it go to waste."

When Bilbo wasn't moving she gestured to the free space on the bench next to her.

"Come and sit, Master Baggins."

Bilbo hesitated for a moment, still not quite sure what to make of the dwarrowdam. He remembered her brother's scorn upon their first meeting only all too well and although their relationship had been more than mended later, he was still slightly wary of dwarves unknown to him. He knew they had good enough reason never to trust lightly - and what if Dís didn't share her brother's forgiveness for the theft of the Arkenstone or, even worse, held him accountable for her kin's deaths?

Dís, however, seemed to harbour no such thoughts or she was simply very good at not letting them show on her face. Instead she repeated her little gesture and Bilbo sat down next to her with a quiet sigh, taking out his own pipe. They smoked in silence for a while before Dís spoke up again.

"So...Frodo, is he your son then?"

Bilbo almost choked on the lungful of smoke he had just inhaled.

"N-no, certainly not. He's a distant nephew of mine. I took him in last year after his parents died."

"Ah." Dís nodded and her eyes followed the young hobbit as he ran around with Sam following on his tail.

"Uncles can love their nephews just as much as any real parent. He seems a good lad and happy to be here." There was just the hint of something different in her tone and Bilbo was fairly sure she was thinking of a different uncle doting on his nephews, even if he rarely showed his love for them openly amongst other company.

"Yes, he is." Bilbo smiled a little when thought about how far Frodo had already come and how different he was from the frightened little boy who had first set foot into Bag End and hadn't been able to sleep alone. And if he thought about it, he had to admit that having Frodo with him had done him a world of good - after the return from his little adventure he had spent far too long mulling over the cruel ways of fate, closing himself in and forgetting about the beauty of the Shire in front of his door. His only consolation had been the occasional visits of dwarves and Frodo's family. Too often, when he went outside, had the boisterous laugh and pranks of some young lads reminded him of Fíli and Kíli and far too often he had jerked awake at night from dreams of blood and broken eyes.

They remained quiet for a while before Dís started talking again.

"I came along to thank you." she said at last.

Bilbo knew how hard it was for many dwarrows to openly express thanks and goodwill (and for a moment, he remembered the top of a rocky outcrop shaped like a bear's head and a 'thank you' that was never mouthed, but instead expressed in a warm embrace), so he was more than surprised to hear those words coming from the dwarrowdam's mouth.

"I, er..." he started to say, but didn't quite know how to go on.

"You saved my brother's life and that of the whole company and managed to brave a dragon. That alone, Master Baggins, is more than enough to merit my thanks." The look in her eyes was honest, her words sincere.

"But I-" _I still couldn't save them from dying_ , Bilbo wanted to say and the words were likely written plainly on his face, because Dís smiled that slightly lost smile of hers again.

"You did what you could and for that, I am thankful. You left your peaceful home to help our people regain ours and that is no small feat." No words of the Arkenstone or her brother's sickness and somehow, Bilbo was grateful for it. What was done was done and he had regretted his actions, as Thorin had regretted his, more than once. He wondered if Dís had ever been angry at her brother, had cursed him for leading her sons into death, but the expression on her face told him that she had loved Thorin with all her might just like the rest of her family and knew as well as Bilbo that he would have given his life in an instant to ensure his nephews were safe.

"I did what anybody would have done, really." he answered and fidgeted with his pipe.

Dís shook her head and laughed softly, her laugh achingly similar to that of her brother's on the rare occasions that Bilbo had seen it.

"I see now that Balin was right when he told me that hobbits were masters of understatement." Bilbo hoped she didn't see the slight blush on his face at the compliment.

Their talk diverted after that and wandered down more pleasant routes. In contrast to her brother's silent scowl, Dís made for a much better conversational partner although they didn't have much in common, the hobbit from the Shire and the dwarrowdam from the Lonely Mountain. The sun wasn't far from the horizon anymore when Bilbo belatedly remembered dinner and jumped to his feet with an apology. Frodo would be home soon and although they'd both had second lunch, it would do no good to keep them all waiting for their evening meal.

Dís followed him inside and gripped his arm before he could move towards the kitchen by his usual route - through his sitting room with the fire place. Bilbo startled when he saw Dwalin's burly shape hunched in one of the chairs close to the window and gazing at the currently cold fire place. His hands were holding one of his axes and a whetstone, indicating that he had been in the middle of sharpening his weapons. But now they were motionless and Bilbo recognised the look in his eyes instantly - it was the same look he had seen on his mother's face so often when she was staring at the bed she had shared with his father or his favourite chair that he had loved to lounge in. Dwalin's gaze was directed at the past and Bilbo remembered Thorin leaning on the mantlepiece and singing the song of their people.

He agreed with Dís that it was likely better not to disturb the warrior and so they walked past the old oak through the halls into the kitchen. A much merrier image awaited them there - Frodo had obviously returned already, likely through the back door, and was now watching with wide eyes as Balin and Bofur were busying themselves with the preparations for dinner. His previous shyness seemed to have almost vanished and it filled Bilbo's heart with joy to see him laughing at Bofur's jests and Balin's good-natured reprimands when his little fingers came too close to the hot stove.

Bilbo recognised soon enough that there wasn't much to do for him in the kitchen and he was half of a mind to just join Dís on the low bench in the same room and watch the cooking unfold when Ori came in and asked him if he wanted to see the presents that they had brought from Erebor. The mention of 'presents' had Frodo's attention on them in less than a few moments and his eagerness proved hard to resist.

Ori disappeared only to return shortly after with Dwalin in tow, their arms laden with little boxes and bags. Frodo watched in obvious fascination as Bilbo unpacked and admired every one of the gifts - a gorgeous tome on dwarven herb lore from Óin (which, Ori admitted shyly, he had helped the old dwarf write and illustrate and as such it was a present from him as well) and a nice little box for his personal documents inlaid in with his initials in gold and silver from Glóin. Bombur had sent him another collection of recipes together with the request of sending any new ones from the Shire that he could find back to him via his brother. Despite Bifur's worsening condition, he still seemed to be as apt as ever with his whittling knife and Frodo's eyes went as round as marbles when he saw the finely carved likeness of a dragon with movable wings being carefully unpacked by his uncle. Bilbo promised him he could play with it later if he was being very careful and Frodo's joy made the entire room smile, even Dwalin. Nori had given a set of beautiful silver cups to Ori for safekeeping before he disappeared and Bilbo chose not to think about where the old thief had acquired them, until Ori noticed his slightly unsure gaze and laughed, telling him that those had indeed been honestly bought for a change. Dori had sent Bilbo a scarf made of finest and soft wool, together with a pair of gloves of best make for the winter.

Bilbo became slightly teary-eyed when he looked at the table full of presents, especially when the present dwarves all added their own little gifts - Dwalin presented him with a new kitchen knife, sharp as anything and the dark wooden handle inlaid with tracings of silver which, as it turned out, was the result of his and Dís' combined effort in smithing. Bofur and Balin had chipped in together as well, presenting Bilbo with another book (since when did the dwarves know of his fondness of books?) that contained many of their songs translated into Westron as Bofur knew them and Balin had translated them for him.

They spent dinner time and the evening sharing stories about all that had happened in Erebor and in the Shire since they had last had news of each other. It wasn't long until Bofur suggested a song and if anything, his voice had become even better since Bilbo had last seen him. The cheer and songs were never as loud as when thirteen dwarves and a wizard had suddenly invaded his comfortable hobbit hole, but the mirth in the air was still palpable and only slightly dimmed when they had to put Frodo, whose eyes had been drooping for the past half hour, to bed for the sake of being more quiet.

The dwarves excused themselves soon as well, obviously still weary after their long travels. It promised to be a quiet night after an eventful day and Bilbo enjoyed one more pipe by himself before he, too, ventured to bed. He allowed his memories to resurface and dwell on a dwarven company descending on his home and the adventure that had followed it, filled to the brim with happiness, sadness, fear and excitement - in short, everything life had to offer crammed into the space of a few months.

Just when he was about to slowly drift off, Bilbo heard a cry from Frodo's room that sounded suspiciously like ' _Mam, no!_ ' and was on his feet within moments. It had been a while since Frodo's last nightmare, but maybe all the excitement had been a tad too much for him. Whatever it was, Bilbo hurried over to his nephew, only to stop almost dead in his tracks when he almost bumped into Dwalin who was wearing barely more than a tunic and his trousers and sporting a rather large axe in his hands. He must have heard the scream and his decades-old warrior instincts had woken him up and made him grab his weapons to charge at whatever was causing or about to cause the others harm. Bilbo had seen it happen more than once throughout their journey and it had often been with due cause.

He shook his head at Dwalin and had just the time to open the door to Frodo's room when a small shape already crashed into him, sobs barely muffled in the fabric of his nightshirt. Dwalin relaxed slowly behind him, obviously relieved to find that it had been nothing but a nightmare. Bilbo took Frodo up on his arms (although the lad was almost too heavy to do so by now) and shushed him, stroking his head and letting him cry. With a look at Dwalin he explained quietly:

"His parents died in a boating accident last year. He's been having nightmares ever since." Dwalin just nodded, something in his gaze telling Bilbo this wasn't the first time he had seen something akin to this happening. Frodo had slowly calmed down, only now noticing the burly shape of the warrior in the half-dark of the hallway. His eyes went wide at the sight, uncertain gaze flickering down to his axe and back up at the dwarrow's face.

"Dwalin?" he asked, unsure of what to make of the situation.

"Sorry lad. I thought there were..." Dwalin's voice trailed off, not wanting to frighten the young hobbit with mentions of orcs and other unsavoury folk.

"Were you going to protect me?" Frodo's voice was timid as if he still wasn't quite of a mind if the intimidating dwarf hadn't come to harm him.

"Aye." Dwalin managed a slightly rumpled smile that was probably meant to be reassuring.

It seemed to work on Frodo because the lad's thoughts were slowly drifting away from the nightmare. He squirmed on Bilbo's arms and demanded to be put down so that he could shuffle over to Dwalin. The tall dwarf dropped onto his knees and Frodo carefully extended his fingers, stopping a hand's breadth away from the sharp blade of the axe, obviously fascinated by the engravings on it.

"Can I touch it?" he asked.

Dwalin smiled reassuringly and nodded. The smiling seemed to come easier to him when it was in the middle of the night and his thoughts didn't have the time yet to drag him down.

"But be careful, don't touch the edge. It's very sharp."

Frodo's eyes widened and his fingers were trembling slightly when he put them down on the cold metal. His fingertips traced the complicated patterns and runes edged into the surface. His awe only magnified when Dwalin told him that he had fashioned the axe by himself. His respect of the warrior seemed to grow by the moment and Bilbo sighed. He just hoped that Frodo wouldn't demand any weapons for himself anytime soon.

"Can your axe kill bad dreams?" Frodo enquired now, his face full of earnest hope.

"I'm afraid not." Dwalin rumbled gently. "But I can stay here for the rest of night if that makes you feel any better."

The young hobbit cocked his head and earnestly thought about the suggestion for a moment.

"Yes please!" he then piped and Dwalin nodded, a strange glint in his eyes. Frodo seemed delighted by the prospect and answered Bilbo's question if he wouldn't rather come sleep with him like he had done so many times before with a rather firm 'No!'. Bilbo shook his head and tucked the lad back into his bed before he pulled out a spare blanket and closed the door behind him.

He knew that is was usually pointless to sway Dwalin's opinion on anything, but he tried nonetheless as the warrior settled down on the floor next to Frodo's door and accepted the blanket with a gracious nod.

"You don't have to-"

"Ach, nonsense, I don't mind." Dwalin interrupted him. "Tho - I've spent many nights like this, in surroundings of much less pleasant nature."

Bilbo was quite sure that he had been about to say 'Thorin and me' but he was wise enough not to dwell on the subject. He left the dwarrow seated on the floor, axe leaning onto the wall next to him where he could grab it every moment although it hardly seemed necessary. His own sleep was uneasy and filled with memories that mingled with nightmarish visions of the less pleasant sort.

*

Despite him having told Bilbo just how many nights he had spent sleeping on the hard ground, always ready to jump up and be ready to fight at a moment's notice Dwalin realised that apart from their journey to the Shire it had been a while since he had done so. He had barely had any time or reason to venture beyond the borders of Erebor in the last few decades and whenever he did, it was usually to accompany the king on some sort of official royal mission and the finest lodgings had always been prepared in advance for them.

No, the years of uncomfortable sleeping and night watches were far in the past now and had belonged to a time when Thorin had been with him on most of those journeys. He remembered how hard it had been for him to come by sleep in the first weeks after the battle, always roaming the halls of Erebor like a ghost, the feeling of emptiness inside him so fundamental that he could hear his own heartbeats echo in it. The worst moments had been those when he had woken up and turned around to look at Thorin's face - only then realising that he would never again see it in the Lonely Mountain for as long as he lived. His moment of failure had been haunting him in his dreams until their deaths had been flickering even before his waking eye and he had never truly slept soundly most nights since.

He hadn't picked up a weapon properly until Dís had arrived with the first caravan from the Blue Mountains. Dwalin hadn't gone out to meet her like it would have been expected from him - unable to look the one he had failed in the eye, unable to bear his shame in her presence. Only few people knew that Dáin had offered her the crown and that she had declined, feeling that the kingdom should have been her brother's, her sons', not hers. Together with Balin, however, she was Dáin's most valuable advisor, and many of their kin still sought her counsel. The day after she had arrived she had marched into Dwalin's quarters and dragged him off the practice courts with barely a word, demanding that he fight her with all his might.

After she had almost broken his nose and several fingers he had stopped holding back and since then, they had sparred daily at first, then weekly. It had made him realise that he hadn't been alone in his loss, that sharing a memory sometimes made it easier to bear. She was the only one who had ever seen his tears and he hers, tears he hadn't even allowed himself to shed in front of his own brother. And slowly, he had felt the life return to him, had realised that although his world would forever remain broken, for the others it was still going on and that his help was needed. _'Live for me_ ' Thorin had told him in that endless night that had been his last and only now did he finally understand what he had meant.

And then he had set sight on Frodo, the lad's frightened face reminding him so much of Kíli in those first nights after his father had died that it hurt.

He woke the next morning with a stiff back after a better sleep than he'd had in weeks, the delicious smells wafting over from the kitchen making his stomach growl. Nobody seemed to question his nightly vigil in front of Frodo's door - either choosing not to ask or already informed about it by Bilbo who was busy preparing them a full breakfast on his stove. They were in relatively good spirits that morning, assuring Bilbo that they would stay one more day and night until they had to depart to the Blue Mountains.

Dís promised to sharpen all of Bilbo's knifes and other items that needed maintenance, Ori was diligently copying down recipes for Bombur and Bofur entertained Bilbo with yet another score of stories that he hadn't gotten around to telling the evening before. Frodo tugged Dwalin's sleeve and told him that his friend Sam couldn't come playing today and maybe Mister Dwalin would...? The tall dwarf hadn't expected such a request and the expression of surprise on Bilbo's and his fellow dwarrows' face told him the others hadn't either, but for some reason, he found it impossible to resist the pleading look in Frodo's eyes.

With Bilbo's blessing the lad ushered him out of the door and down onto a meadow not far from Bag End. Dwalin brought most of his weapons with him - he had wanted to sharpen his axes the day before, but the sight of the fire place had sidetracked his thoughts with memories until Ori had come along and asked him to help with the presents for Bilbo.

Dwalin lowered himself to the ground in the shade of a tree and leaned back against the large trunk, trying to keep one eye on Frodo and the other on his hands as he was working with the whetstone. The lad seemed to be content to sit in the lush grass and busy himself with the flowers around him - only after a while Dwalin saw that he seemed to be making some kind of flower crown for himself. Sometimes he stood up and walked away, only to return moments later with a different plant in his hands. It was an odd sort of peace and the warrior slowly felt himself relaxing, like he hadn't done outside for a long time. He still missed the feeling of solid stone around him but the quietness around him was strangely soothing.

Frodo finished his flower clown and carefully put it on his head - then he walked over to Dwalin to watch him sharpening his axes, fascinated by the slow and deliberate movements of his large hands. He seemed to be content not to talk which made Dwalin frown slightly - from Fíli and Kíli he had been used to an endless stream of chattering that never seemed to stop no matter how exhausted they were. When he had finished with his blades, he put them aside (carefully out of Frodo's momentary reach) and thought he should likely try to coax the young fellow into talking.

"That's a very nice flower crown, lad."

Evidently it had been the right thing to say since Frodo's face immediately lit up, carefully pulling the weaved strands down from his head and presenting it to Dwalin.

"Yes, Mrs. Cotton showed me how to do it! Every flower means something."

Dwalin tried to look interested - he didn't know a thing about flowers, apart from that they were colourful and some people insisted you could eat some of them. Frodo, however, seemed to be proud of his selection of blossoms and was now busy to recount their names and meanings for him.

"This is sea lavender, look, Uncle Bilbo says they usually grow close to the sea but there's a sandy patch over there and so they're growing here too! They're supposed to stand for remembering things. And those are mugwort leaves from the river over there. Mam loved them and they are for happiness. And those" he touched a lot of small flowers of bluish purple colour "those are harebells. We have a lot of them and Bilbo taught me that they stand for grief."

Bilbo's words were ringing in his ears again and he thought about Frodo's frightened and tear-streaked face from the night before, his shy and quiet demeanour at first and felt his heart soften. He recognised in his expression the faces of many orphans from the fall of Erebor and was profoundly grateful to Bilbo that at least all their despair was missing from Frodo's eyes. The lad seemed to notice Dwalin's face darkening when he thought about the past and his fingers prodded his arm to grab his attention again.

"Do you want one, too?" he asked innocently. "Or we could put some flowers into your beard, I'm sure it would look amazing!"

"I-" Dwalin faltered when he noticed that he didn't quite know how to reply. Frodo's eyes, however, were so big and pleading that he suddenly felt it impossible to resist.

"...why not."

The grin on Frodo's face was worth it.

"Which flowers would you like to have, Mister Dwalin? There's lots more and they all have different meanings, I can show you if you want..."

"No, thank you, I think those...harebells, is that right?" Frodo nodded. "They will do nicely."

The hobbit's eyes grew slightly larger, but after a moment of hesitation he skipped off to collect the flowers that had been requested. He returned with a bunch of flowers in his arms not long after, dropping them in a small pile next to the tall dwarf.

"I brought some more sea lavender too." he mumbled, obviously not sure if Dwalin would approve or not. "Bilbo always says that you need to remember when you grieve, because that keeps them alive inside us."

Dwalin felt a little pang in his chest at the earnest declaration and thought of the Bilbo's hobbit hole - the map of the Lonely Mountain displayed on the wall, the various keepsakes of his journey scattered all over the place in plain sight. Shortly after the battle he had been far too numb to pay attention to pretty much anything, but he still vaguely recalled tears on the gentle face of their burglar, slumped shoulders and an invisible weight bearing down on him that he had never seen there throughout their quest.

After a little encouraging nod from him, Frodo climbed up to stand on his knees and, very carefully, tug the blossoms of the flowers into the greying hair of his beard. It had been a long time since anybody had touched his beard like this - Kíli and Fíli had pulled at it until they had been several decades old and never quite stopped even afterwards. Apart from his brother's when they had both been young, Thorin's hands had ever been the only ones to gently thread their fingers through its strands. Frodo was deeply engrossed in his task, tongue protruding slightly between his lips and Dwalin felt a smile spread over his face at his dedication and the obvious effort he was putting into it.

"Do you like it?" the small hobbit asked when he was finished and Dwalin very carefully brought up his hands to feel the flowers tucked into his beard and hair.

"I'm sure it looks good." he rumbled and was rewarded with another bright smile from Frodo. The lad sat down on his knee, his big blue eyes looking up at him and then asking very softly:

"Who are they for?" Then he added, slightly self-conscious about the seemingly rather private nature of his question: "Mine are for my Ma and Da."

Dwalin closed his eyes and exhaled, on the verge of getting up and walking back to the hobbit hole. Somehow, however, he felt like he owed Frodo the answer to this question and somebody who had seen such grief at so young an age already had earned the right to know.

"They're for three very brave dwarrows, the sons and the brother of the lady Dís who came with us." Their names were on his tongue, but he hadn't spoken them in so long that he was almost afraid to do so now. Frodo nodded, as if he knew who he was talking about - and in all likeliness he did, Dwalin remembered, Bilbo surely having told him the story of his adventure more than once.

"Do you miss them a lot? Fíli and Kíli and Thorin?" So he did indeed remember the names.

"Yes." Dwalin answered softly. _Every day_.

"I miss my parents too. Bilbo said his own Ma was often sad after his Da died and that she would stare into the room a lot as if she was seeing things that weren't there anymore, just like you do." Dwalin's features softened at Frodo's words, remembering the countless times the ghosts of the past seemed to catch up with him, fixing his gaze on the past rather than the present.

"I do that a lot, don't I? Aye, I see them often, especially Thorin." So strange to taste his name on his tongue again. The same name that he had spoken so often when his king had been alive now seemed to have become a treasure to protect and keep close.

Frodo looked in his face and then clambered off his knees to dash off to the-maker-knew-where. Dwalin wasn't fast enough to hold him back and sank back against the tree with a sigh. The young hobbit seemed to have enough sense in him not to get himself into trouble and he resolved to wait a moment before heading off in search of him. Just when he had been about to stand up, Frodo came running back over the meadow in long strides, gesturing with a bunch of colourful flowers in his hand.

"Asters." Frodo said when Dwalin shot him a questioning glance. "They stand for love. Your face earlier when you talked about Thorin was just like Da's when he looked at Ma when he thought she couldn't see it."

He shrank back under Dwalin's piercing gaze, but still managed to stammer out an apology and a "Did you love him?", not knowing that such a direct question was almost unheard of amongst dwarves.

Dwalin carefully schooled his face expression back into neutrality and softness, reigning in his anger that had solely been directed at himself. _You're becoming sappy, old dwarf_ , he thought.

"Aye, I did." _He was a stubborn, prideful fool of a dwarf and a mighty king and I loved him with everything I had_.

He offered Frodo one of his hands. The lad took it after a quick thought and sat on his knees, carefully fashioning a second flower crown made of the asters he had just brought back and some leftover harebells.

"I would have brought honeysuckle but it's too late for them and they don't flower anymore. Asters are good, too, right?"

Dwalin smiled and ensured him that yes, they were. The boy now carried on talking quietly, about how his mother had often taken him out onto the meadows and shown him the different flowers and how she had been named after one as well. He even managed to coax some memories of Fíli, Kíli and Thorin out of Dwalin who allowed himself to indulge in those rare moments of bliss they'd had before the quest. And despite the hurt still clinging painfully to his heart he found they managed to warm him inside as well. The colour of the harebells was a shade too purple to truly fit, but if he squinted he could easily imagine them to be the colour of Thorin's eyes.

At one point Frodo noticed his hands wandering to the clasps on his ear and to his own surprise, Dwalin didn't refuse his request to see them up close. He very carefully unfastened one of them and put it into Frodo's hand, warning him not to drop it. The lad's fascination at the patterns and symbols was obvious and soon Dwalin found himself explaining to him what they meant and how they had been a gift from Thorin. Frodo scrunched up his nose.

"A bit like the rings Pa and Ma gave each other when they married? Bilbo told me about it."

Dwalin had to bite back a chuckle.

"A bit like it, yes, although we were never married. Hardly seemed necessary to us..." He saw the confusion in Frodo's face at the statement but didn't quite have the patience to put into words what had always seemed to be so natural for them that it barely bore talking about. Thankfully, the flower crown was now finished and he lowered his head to allow Frodo to put it on.

The grumbling of the lad's stomach and track of the sun across the sky told Dwalin that it was time for lunch soon and when Frodo stretched out his arms he didn't hesitate a single moment to lift the young hobbit onto his shoulders. They made their way back to Bag End and if anybody was staring at the flowers on their heads and in Dwalin's beard on the way in open astonishment neither of them truly cared.


End file.
